


To find a home (in you and me)

by stanielthemaniel



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Father's Day, Gen, Tony Stark Lives, im aware fathers day was a week ago please validate me anyway im tired, inject the found family trope directly into my bloodstream, other than that this is meant to be endgame compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2020-05-16 22:36:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19327501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stanielthemaniel/pseuds/stanielthemaniel
Summary: Peter has no plans for Father's Day. Why would he? He doesn't have a dad to create any plans around.Turns out all it takes to change that is one phone call from a very determined, very stubborn Morgan Stark.Post endgame, Tony lives au.





	1. Chapter 1

The irritation that sweeps through Peter at the telltale chime of the restaurant’s front door opening pairs perfectly with his disgust as a jet of water hits the soup ladle he’s washing at just the wrong angle, spraying dirty suds directly into his face. 

His eyes cut left to share a _look_ with his coworker Sara as she heads to the front to serve the charming customers who decided to come order two minutes before closing. Scrubbing a hand down his face to dry it off, Peter reluctantly walks over to turn the burger grills back on. 

The night’s been slow, monotonous but easy, and they’d started closing early in the hopes of heading out for the night at a decent time. This group’s thrown a wrench in their plans, and Peter can see his dream of a decent night’s sleep slipping away right before his eyes. 

It was a stretch anyway; his molecular bio paper won’t write itself and Spiderman patrol tends to require his active participation. Still, the bags beneath his eyes are becoming pronounced enough that even Ned has started squinting at them over Facetime and comparing them to craters on the moon. 

As the orders come through and Peter settles into the quickfire habits of grilling, flipping, and assembling the food, a game plan forms in his mind. Espresso to get through his paper, six shots should probably do the trick. If he’s done writing it by three, he can have a few hours of uninterrupted patrol with enough time for a power nap before his eight am. That’s doable.

It really is. It’s just - college is hard. It’s all the usual stuff; moving into a dorm and not having May just a few walls away any time he needs her, classes that challenge him for the first time he can really remember, Ned and MJ scattered at different schools around the country. He’s constantly stressed, broke, and sleep deprived. 

Then there’s the nightmares, new villains and old memories blurring together until they become a single mess. The most recent adventure into Peter’s subconscious had him fighting the weird sewer shark he’d actually encountered in Brooklyn the week before, except this time on Titan. Thanos had watched as the shark turned to dust only to snap it back, stronger than ever as it took a ragged bite of Tony’s arm. Peter could only watch on helplessly. He’d woken on the floor of his dorm room to an annoyed sigh from his roommate and sweat soaked sheets tangled around his legs. 

The dream felt all too real to Peter, and he’s had a hard time trying to shake it off. Not the shark, or even the memories of Titan. Tony really had lost an arm though. Tony had almost _died_. Peter could do nothing but watch as Tony saved the universe, stitched it back together with a snap of his fingers, and nearly paid for it with his life. 

Those few hours after the battle, waiting outside the operating room, unsure if he was about to lose yet another person he loved - those were more than enough fuel for Peter’s inevitable nightmares. 

It’s all okay now though. Tony survived. He lost an arm and built a new one, all bright eyes and whirring mind and never, ever the victim. Months have gone by, as Peter finished high school alongside best friends and total strangers alike, graduated, and accepted his full ride offer to Columbia. Tony returned to the lakehouse, to Pepper and Morgan, to his family. 

And that’s another thing. Tony has a _family_ now. Peter knows Pepper was family to Tony before the snap, but it’s just… different now. Father, mother, daughter. Picturesque house on a lake - a _home_. Tony finally has everything he ever wanted. 

And Peter missed it all. 

And he knows it’s irrational, but there’s a small, insistent part of his mind that can’t help but wonder if Tony finally managed to have everything he wanted because Peter wasn’t around to worry about anymore. 

Most of him knows it’s ridiculous. He can still picture the excitement in Tony’s eyes the first time he showed Peter around the lakehouse; the first time he introduced him to Morgan. 

The real kicker of it is that Peter adores Morgan. How could he not? She’s incredible. Already ridiculously smart, funny and silly and sweet, so much a _child_ in the way Peter knows Tony himself never got to be that it makes something in him ache. 

Morgan grew up on stories of Spiderman. She grew up with framed photos of Peter Parker gathering dust on shelves. She grew up with a secondhand loss, a muted hole in her life that she could never quite understand. 

Peter doesn’t know if Morgan felt a shift when he came suddenly into her life, if something in her settled into place the way it did for him when he met her. He just knows she was happy to have someone who indulged her in her Spy Kids conspiracy theories that first day, and in everything since. 

So Peter loves Morgan. He loves Tony, and he loves Pepper. He loves lazy weekends at the lake house; lab days and game nights, boat rides and pancake breakfasts, the feeling that unfurls in his chest soft and sweet like honey. 

But he’s been keeping his distance. 

Not actively, not noticeably. He’ll still answer Tony’s calls, voice bright and grin wide. He’ll still pin Morgan’s drawings to the cork board above his desk, clearing away the clutter for a place of pride front and center. He’ll still smile when Pepper sends him recipes she’s tried out and thinks he would like, will still respond with a new photo of himself eating a hotdog or week old takeout. 

He hasn’t visited in a while though. His excuses are understandable - school and work and Spider Man don’t exactly equal a whole lot of free time, and he has to account for going home to May as well. It’s bullshit, really, but close enough to some semblance of the truth that nobody’s pushed him too hard on it. 

Peter’s glad for that. He wouldn’t know how to say out loud, in a way that makes sense, that it’s for the best if he doesn’t get too involved. Peter had his time in the sun, and it ended in ashes. 

He can still cherish the warmth; let it soak into his fingers, tilt his head up to catch the closest rays. He won’t step into it, though, not now. Not when he can see how perfect, how whole and complete it is without his shadow tainting it. Not when he knows how much it would hurt him to have it go away. 

So he’s working the closing shift. He’s finishing late and he’s going to write a paper and fight some crime. He hasn’t been home in two months and he misses May’s hugs and Tony’s hair ruffles and Morgan’s giggles and Pepper’s nose scrunches and Happy’s sighs. He misses Ned’s rambles and MJ’s rants and he’s been running on fumes for so long he gets lightheaded standing up too fast. And it’s fine, it has to be fine. There’s no one else to blame if it’s not. 

He and Sara finally finish closing up for the night, locking the doors and heading the same direction back towards campus. Sara scrounges for enough small talk options to last until they part ways, blowing through the weather (“Decent, cloudy though”, “Yeah, and not even one cool dinosaur shaped one. The audacity.”) and summer classes (“Shitty”, “ _Really_ shitty, like I wish I could just hire a plumber.”) in about two minutes flat. 

She shoots off a quick text, pocketing her phone before glancing at Peter mildly. “Any big plans for Father’s Day this weekend?” 

It’s an innocent question, completely undeserving of the way it sends Peter’s heart shooting through the floor so fast he’s surprised it doesn’t crack the pavement. 

“Uh, nope.” His voice comes out surprisingly steady considering how close he feels to shaking apart. 

“You get stuck with the weekend shift? I barely remembered to book it off on time.” 

“Nah, it’s just....” Peter blinks, and a handful of memories flash with sickening intensity behind his eyelids. Richard Parker, scooping Peter off the pavement beside an upturned bike, pressing first a bandaid and then a kiss to the ragged scrape on his right knee. Ben Parker, weaving through crowded streets with Peter perched on his back, supporting his legs as Peter wrapped tired arms around his neck and closed his eyes, falling asleep to the feeling of safety and home. Tony Stark, clapping in the audience as Peter crossed the stage at his high school graduation, a soft, private smile on his face and a shine to his eyes. 

“It’s just that I don’t have a dad.”


	2. Chapter 2

Peter’s used to being awake at odd hours. 

It tends to come with the job - he’s no stranger to blurry nights blending into blurry days, moonlight guiding him as he flips around the city, trying and failing and trying to protect it with everything he is. 

That doesn’t mean he loves it, however, when his phone starts ringing during one of the rare times he’s actually asleep at four am. 

He jolts awake, body fully alert in the split second it takes for his struggling mind to catch up. He fumbles for the phone, trying to silence it before it wakes his roommate. The guy puts up with enough of Peter’s shit as it is. 

He squints at the screen, something seizing in his chest when he sees the caller ID. Why is Pepper calling him in the middle of the night? 

He answers on autopilot, thumb swiping the screen and holding it to his ear as he slips out of bed and into the hallway, closing the door to his dorm gently behind him. 

“Hello?” He chokes out, worst-case scenarios already flashing behind his eyelids with a sickening speed. Tony somewhere hurt and alone and without access to a suit; Morgan in danger because of course she’d be a target and of course she wouldn’t know why, didn’t grow up in a world that pumped fear through her veins like blood; or maybe it’s too late, and Pepper’s calling Peter because she’s next - 

“Petey!” 

Morgan’s voice echoing through the speaker is like a shock to Peter’s system, snapping him back into the moment, back into his own body. 

“Morgan?” He croaks. He swallows, coughs, and tries again. “What’s going on, are you okay?” 

“I’m great! I found some chocolate chips.”

“That’s… that’s great, Morgs. Is that why you’re calling me? Does your mom know you have her phone? Also, are you aware it’s four am?” The questions escape his mouth faster with every second, even as his heart rate finally begins to slow. 

“I’m not calling _about_ the chocolate chips, I just thought you’d wanna know. They taste like butterscotch.” 

“Ooh, that’s the best kind!” 

“ _Duh_. Also mom doesn’t know because this is a _secret_ phone call, you goof. That’s why it’s four am and why I’m whispering.” 

Peter doesn’t have the heart to tell Morgan that her whispering could use more than a bit of workshopping; it’s kind of a miracle that neither of her parents seem to have woken up yet. 

“Oh, so you _do_ know what time it is? Good, just checking, because just in case we weren’t on the same page, it’s _four am_.” 

“Pete- _y_ ,” Morgan whines. “I know it’s four am! I read the time on mom’s phone before I called.” 

Peter grins. “I didn’t know you could read.” 

Morgan huffs an annoyed sigh. “You did _too_ , I’m reading Harry Potter!” 

“Uh, correction rugrat, _I’ve_ been reading Harry Potter to you.” 

Morgan giggles. “I’ve been reading ahead. You haven’t been over in _ages_ , I had to know if Harry beat the snake!” 

Peter balks. “You finished Chamber of Secrets already?” 

“Yeah! I still want you to read it though, it’s better with the voices.” 

Peter’s grin widens at that. His Hagrid imitation is something he’s probably a bit too proud of. “Hmm, I don’t know. What’s in it for me?” 

Morgan pauses on the other end, clearly unsure. “Um… I can send you the video mom took the other day of dad crying when they watched Mamma Mia 2?” 

The snort Peter lets out at that is one of the least dignified moments he’s had lately, and for someone who regularly braves the public streets of New York dressed head to toe in spandex, that’s saying something. 

Still giggling slightly through his words, Peter responds. “Let’s save that bad boy for something big. Just knowing it exists somewhere in the world is more than enough for me right now. Let’s go with this - I’ll read to you next time I see you if _you_ promise to watch Tangled with me, sound like a plan?” 

“Yes!” Morgan shouts instantly. 

“Okay great, now you know the deal, time for the blood oath-” 

“Peter!” Morgan scolds, and she sounds so much like Pepper in this instant that Peter actually feels kind of chagrined. He can picture that very particular eyebrow furrow they both do when they’re annoyed, those same puckered lips. 

“Okay, okay, hold off on that for now, I’ll just pop some stitches in real quick over here-” He breaks off, laughing, unable to continue when Morgan just makes a wordless sound that comes out sounding something like _blaaarrg_. 

“Alright, so wait,” he gets out, realizing again that he still has no context for any of this. “Back up a second, _why_ is this a secret phone call?” 

“ _Because_ ,” Morgan says, sounding so exasperated Peter assumes she must have told him twenty times already and he just forgot somehow. “Don’t you know what day it is?” 

Peter squints, reaching up to scrub a hand through his hair as he thinks. “Uh, Saturday? I think? I mean, don’t hold me to that, my grasp on days of the week isn’t very strong even when I’m _not_ half asleep, but I’m like seventy-three percent sure it’s Saturday. Why?” 

“It’s not Saturday, dummy! Well it _is_ , but I meant that it’s Father’s Day!” 

Peter’s reply sticks somewhere in his throat, a weird kind of hacking sound leaving his mouth as his heart drops down somewhere closer to his intestines. It’s entirely possible he’s been doing everything in his power not to think about this for the last few days. For some reason it never even crossed his mind that that’s what Morgan could be calling about. 

“Peter?” Morgan asks, after several seconds go by with no answer from Peter. He squeezes his eyes shut, just for a moment, before composing himself. 

“It _is_ Father’s Day! Look at you - you can read, you know days of things… how am I in college and you’re not?” 

“I don’t think I can put ‘knowing days of things’ on an MIT application, but I’ll keep you posted.” And god, Morgan is so _much_ Tony’s daughter that it scares Peter sometimes. He just wants to wrap her in bubble wrap and keep her six years old forever, to never let the world and it’s bitter, harsh realities sink its teeth in her. 

“So what are you guys gonna be up to today? Got any big plans?” It’s good, it’s fine, Peter can do this. He’s just talking to Morgan like normal - she’ll tell him her plans, he’ll make a joke, they’ll say their goodbyes. Easy peasy. 

“Yes! I had to figure them out all on my own, since _you_ never called,” Peter opens his mouth to respond, confused, but Morgan barrels on. “But don’t worry, I’ve got it all set up. We’re gonna make dad breakfast in bed!” 

Peter smiles softly at that. “That sounds great, bug. I’m glad Pep’s gonna help, not sure I totally trust you and your havoc wreaking ways by yourself in the kitchen.” He’s teasing, of course, except for the fact that he definitely isn’t - she would at the very least succeed in starting a fire if left unattended. 

“Mom’s not helping me,” Morgan says, confused. 

“But you said ‘we’?” 

“Yeah, you and me, bozo!” 

And - oh. Shit. “Morg,” Peter says, voice soft. “Hon, I’m not coming over today. Did someone tell you I was?” 

When Morgan speaks next, her voice is different - quieter, less vibrant. Like something’s been drained right out of it. “Well - no. But it’s Father’s Day. Why wouldn’t you be here?” 

“Why _would_ I?” 

“Because it’s _you_! Because you _couldn’t_ be here for the rest of them, so you gotta come now that you can. I swear, Pete, it’s always really fun! Last year we went and fed the ducks, and dad almost got mom to let us take one home-” 

“Morgan,” Peter cuts in gently. Something in him feels like it’s cracking at the almost desperate tone in her voice. “That sounds amazing. That sounds so fun. You’re gonna have a _great_ day, I promise. Just do me a favour, wake up your mom before you try to work the stove?” 

“But,” There’s a definite warble in her voice now. “But I want _you_ there. Everything’s better when you’re here.” 

“Kiddo,” Peter says, suddenly feeling close to tears himself. “Munchkin, I’m sorry I haven’t been over in so long. I’ll try to come down next weekend, how does that sound? You and me, hanging out for two days straight. But today, Father’s Day - it’s a day for family, you know?” 

“I _know_ ,” Morgans says, almost indignantly. “Please come, Pete. At least for breakfast. Please please please.” 

Peter tips his head against the wall, swearing silently. How does this damn child have such direct access to every single one of his heartstrings? “Okay. I’ll come over for breakfast, just to help you cook it, okay? We don’t want you falling into one of those humongous pots you guys have and boiling alive like a lobster.” Morgan lets out a wet sounding giggle, sniffling quietly. “But I can’t stick around, okay? I’ll clear out after that.” 

“Just promise you’ll come?” 

“Pinky swear.” 

“Okay, can you come now? I wanna have everything cooked before dad wakes up and I don’t really know how long it takes. How long does an egg take to cook? Probably about an hour, right?” 

Peter laughs, a fresh wave of fondness unfurling in his chest as he heads back into his dorm to change. “We’ve gotta get you on Chopped, bug. I’m on my way, okay? Steer clear of any big knives until I get there.” 

‘Okey doke, I’ll just stick to the switch blades.” 

“Exactly. I’ll see you soon, Morgs.” 

“Be quick, Petey, love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

He might be diving headfirst into the worst day of the year, but he can’t quite bring himself to care in this moment. He’s doing it for Morgan, and there’s quite literally nothing he wouldn’t do for her if she really asked. 

He just hopes this won’t hurt him more than it has to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone’s having an amazing day, I love u 🥳


	3. Chapter 3

The sun is just starting to creep above the horizon when Peter arrives at the lakehouse, bathing everything it touches in hazy, golden light. It feels like stepping into a dream - into something untouchable, too perfect to be true. 

He feels like an intruder, like he’s trespassing on something he has no right to see. Despite knowing the security system was alerted to his presence, the AI recognizing him and granting full access, Peter can’t help but think this is somewhere he can’t belong. It’s a familiar feeling, one that hits him far too often when he comes to visit, but something about today being _today_ has heightened it tenfold. 

Then Morgan comes slamming out the front door way louder than the early hour calls for, the hinges squeaking with the force of her exit, and that tight feeling in Peter’s chest loosens slightly. 

He meets her halfway, scooping her up and tossing her in the air as she shrieks with laughter. Catching her with a practiced ease, he slings her onto his shoulders, taking off across the lawn. He vaults over picnic tables and scattered toys, ducks under branches and takes corners at sharp angles that leave Morgan breathless and giggling, a constant stream of “Faster, run faster!” tumbling from her lips. Moments like these make him feel like he could outrun anything. 

Eventually he slows, pretending to lose his balance as he tumbles them both safely to the ground. Morgan’s still laughing, face flushed with adrenaline as she flops her whole body sideways across Peter’s stomach, turning her head so she’s looking up at him. “You’re here,” she says, beaming, as she reaches up to poke a finger into Peter’s cheek. 

“Course I am,” Peter replies, ruffling her hair. 

Morgan shifts, curling her body up so her head is tucked in the crook of Peter’s neck, her arms wrapped around him. “Missed you. Knew you’d come.” 

Peter hugs her back, swallowing heavily against the feeling threatening to rise up his throat. That faith, the kind of blind trust in him that Morgan never hesitates to show - he never quite knows what to do with it. It feels like too much sometimes, when he knows the day that he finally lets her down will come eventually. It’s inevitable, really, with Peter being what he is. _Who_ he is. 

He squeezes his eyes shut briefly, before placing a quick kiss into the tangled crown of her hair. “Okay, up and at ‘em, lazybones,” he says, rolling Morgan off him and hauling both of them to their feet. “We’ve got a breakfast to cook. Where’s my chef hat?” 

Inside, Peter finds that Morgan’s already made somewhat of a mess of the kitchen. There’s some kind of brownish goop in a bowl that she proudly proclaims is pancake mix, a trail of flour on the floor with child sized footprints tracked through it, and the fridge has been left wide open, cold air pouring steadily out of it. 

After Peter does a very half assed job cleaning up, Morgan decides it’s time to make her ‘special scrambled eggs’. Peter has a brief moment to wonder what exactly makes them so special, before Morgan is pulling out orange juice rather than milk to mix with the eggs, handing it over to Peter to do the honours. “They’re Daddy’s favourite,” she tells him. 

Peter obliges, grinning to himself as he imagines all the times Tony must have choked down the eggs while assuring his daughter they were delicious. Morgan hops onto a stool to grab a handful of the butterscotch chips spilling out of an open bag on the counter, throwing a few handfuls into the egg mixture for good measure. 

The breakfast comes together pretty quickly after that, Peter manning the oven to cook the eggs and pancakes and fry some bacon, while Morgan mashes butter into a stack of toast. In the end, Peter’s hopes are placed entirely on the bacon being passingly edible. 

He’s just about to start brewing a pot of coffee, Morgan sitting on the counter and snacking on the butterscotch chips, when he hears footsteps behind him. He stiffens, hoping that maybe the Starks just got a really overweight cat or something since the last time he was here. He turns around, however, to find that’s definitely not the case. It’s Tony. Of course it’s Tony. 

Tony pauses in the doorway, eyes quickly scanning the scene before snapping back to Peter. Peter glances at the ground, anxiety clawing its way ruthlessly through his body. 

“Pete?” Tony asks. Something about the catch in his voice has Peter looking back up, meeting Tony’s gaze. 

“Uh, hey,” Peter says, voice coming out about two octaves too high. 

Tony’s brows furrow even as he smiles, crossing the threshold in a few long strides to wrap Peter in a firm hug. This is another thing Peter’s still not used to. After Thanos, after everything - after five unending years that changed the whole world - Tony’s been a lot more open with affection. It must be something he picked up from raising Morgan, but Peter finds himself leaning into the touch anyway. 

Tony releases him to greet Morgan, a kiss placed on her forehead before she pulls back to toss a chip into his open mouth. Peter’s heart tugs watching them. It looks so easy, the most natural thing in the world. 

As he turns back to face Peter, he still has that strange grin on his face, the one that practically screams _something isn’t right_. Peter’s pretty sure he knows exactly what it’s about. He forces a smile onto his own face, rocking back on his heels. 

“So, um… sorry to intrude? This is probably a weird scene to wake up to, heh, sorry about that. I just, uh, I was helping Morgan cook breakfast ‘cause I didn’t want your house to burn down?” He wishes everything would stop coming out like a question. “Anyway, breakfast is made, all fires successfully put out - I’m just kidding, there was only one - I _did_ put it out though, don’t worry. Uh, so, yeah. I’ll get out of your hair now.” He’s been backing up slowly as he speaks, almost at the doorway now. 

“Wait - wait a minute,” Tony holds up a hand, frowning. “You’re leaving?” 

Morgan’s head shoots up at that, staring wide eyed at Peter. “Already? Stay a little longer Petey, please!” 

“Morgs, we cooked the breakfast, that was the deal, remember?” 

“What deal?” Tony asks. 

Morgan pouts, kicking her feet against the cabinets. “I called him earlier with Mommy’s phone because I wanted him to come over today! But he said he could only help cook breakfast and then he had to leave.” 

Tony raises his eyebrows, a fond look sweeping his features. “Honey you’ve got to stop taking Mommy’s phone, okay? I’ve read enough parenting books to know that we’re supposed to limit your screen time so that your brain doesn’t melt out your ears.” 

“Yeah,” Peter finds himself piping in. “Look at your dad, his brain melted out decades ago.” 

“I beg your pardon, Parker?” 

“Daddy, ew!” Morgan cries. “Petey get me away from him, I don’t want my brain to melt!” 

Peter snorts, scooping Morgan off the counter and twirling her away from Tony. 

“Okay,” Tony says, shaking his head. “It’s officially too early in the morning for your combined forces. I’m making coffee, want any Pete?” 

“Oh,” Peter says, reality settling quickly back in as he puts Morgan back down. “No, I’m alright.” 

“Hate to break it to you kid, but I don’t think another growth spurt is coming your way. You may as well give in to the coffee at this point.” 

“I’ll have some!” Morgan cuts in, hopeful. 

Tony shakes his head. “With any luck you’ll grow at least another two inches kiddo, try me again in a decade. Anyway, Peter, coffee?” 

“I really do have to go,” Peter says. 

“You got work today? Plans?” 

“No, no, I just… I can’t really - be here, today, you know?” He pauses for a moment, as something seems to shutter behind Tony’s eyes. “I was thinking of swinging by next weekend, though? Swinging by, ha. I’m not really gonna swing here. I take the bus, usually. You know that, though. So never mind. Uh, right, so next weekend? Maybe? I’ll just text you about it? Um. Okay. Bye. Bye Morgan.” He leans down to kiss Morgan goodbye, avoiding Tony’s gaze as he turns around and beats a hasty exit out of the house. 

Peter’s several yards across the lawn, taking a roundabout exit around the lake, when Tony calls his name, freezing him in place. He pauses, waiting, despite every cell in his body screaming that he needs to _go_. 

“Hey,” Tony says as he catches up to him, walking around so they’re standing face to face. 

“Hey,” Peter replies. Tony just watches him for a moment, seeming to search for something. Peter wishes he had anything to give. 

“Look, kid,” Tony says eventually, something in his posture seeming to deflate. “Before you go, I just… I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” 

Peter blinks. “For what?” 

“For… well. For making you feel uncomfortable, I suppose. I know you came here this morning for Morgan. She loves you, Pete, she really does. I’ve never seen her become attached to someone as quickly as she did with you. So thank you, for doing this for her.” 

Tony clears his throat, straightening his shoulders. He looks, for a moment, almost like he did to Peter before he knew him. That famous, untouchable hero. Peter can see through it now, though. He can see that it’s an act. He just can’t see _why_. 

“I shouldn’t have pushed, back in the kitchen. You made it clear you wanted to leave. I should have realized…” He trails off for a moment, just looking at Peter. When he speaks again, his tone is almost unbearably flippant. “Anyway, you’re a big boy. You don’t have to stay anywhere just because I want you to. Off with you, then. Scoot, skedaddle.” He makes a shooing motion with his hands. 

Peter takes a moment to process, feeling rooted to the spot. “You want me to stay?” 

“Pardon?” 

“You just… I thought you just said -” 

“Of course I want you to stay, Pete, what are you talking about?” 

“But - but it’s Father’s Day.” 

“I am aware, thank you. My wife is basically a walking calendar. I’m serious, ask me when National Ampersand Day is.” 

“But… but,” Peter sounds like an idiot. He feels like his brain is jammed. “Why would you want me here on Father’s Day?”

Tony takes a moment, puzzled frown slowly morphing into something else, something new. Peter hopes it’s not pity. He doesn’t think he could stand it if it was pity. 

Then Tony lets out a laugh, short and sharp. “You know, when Pep was still my PA, way back in the day - and let’s not think about how far back that actually is, I think my grey hairs already say enough - she used to prep me for meetings, appointments, all that jazz. That typically meant making sure I was awake, dressed, sober enough enough to attend, etcetera. But she also… she also gave me some really good advice over the years. Still does, of course. But I can still hear it, that tone of voice she always used when I was being especially unbearable. _‘Communication is key, Tony.’ ‘They can’t read your mind, Tony.’_ I brushed her off, I always did. It took me years to allow myself to let her words have an impact on me. To let _her_ have an impact on me. But, as usual, she was right.” 

“I don’t understand,” says Peter. 

“No, no, of course not,” Tony mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “That was my very roundabout way of saying I think there’s been a miscommunication here, kid.” 

Peter twists his hands together. “Miscommunication how?” 

Tony takes a breath. “I want you here, Pete. Any day, of course, but today as well. Today especially, honestly. When I saw you in the kitchen with Morgan, I just… it made me so happy. It really did. It made me _so_ happy. And that was probably pretty selfish of me. But I’m trying to be totally honest here, so. There you have it.” 

“There I have… what?” Peter asks. He still can’t really follow any of this. He’s not sure what Tony’s trying to say with all of this, or why he’s looking at Peter with that same vulnerable expression Peter last saw as they reunited in the middle of a battlefield, hugging as a war raged all around them. 

“Peter. I’m not your dad,” Tony says, and it’s like ice flooding Peter’s chest. He’s well aware, after all. He doesn’t need the reminder. Tony, however, seems not to notice, as he doesn’t even pause. “I’m not your dad, and I’m not your uncle.” And that’s more ice, this time feeling somehow so much sharper. “And I’m not trying to be. There’s no competition, and I’m generally not a fan of falling short. But the thing is… the thing is you’re my _kid_. You’re _my_ kid. I look at you and Morgan and I think - that’s it. That’s the way it should be.” 

Peter swallows against the sudden thickness in his throat. “I don’t… I just… um. I wanted to be here, you know. Today. But it just - it felt so out of reach.” 

Tony hesitates, before reaching out and guiding Peter over to a nearby picnic table. They sit side by side, staring out at the water. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt fear like I did when Pepper told me she was pregnant. I ever tell you that? It seems silly, now. I’m the one who brought it up, originally. The idea of us having a kid. But she told me, and my first thought was _I can’t_. I was going to have a child with the woman of my dreams, and the only thing I could think was _I can’t do this again._ ” 

Peter looks up, confused, and Tony laughs. It sounds hollow. “Before you ask, no, I didn’t mean raising another baby. I promise I don’t have any other children you’ve never heard of running around out there. It just - it was so soon. Less than two months since half the universe ended. Less than two months since - since I lost you.” 

Tony pauses, closing his eyes. Peter can’t help it - he presses closer, leaning into the warm weight of Tony’s side. “You were the one, Pete, the one who made me believe in the first place that maybe I could actually do the whole ‘dad’ thing. And then I watched you die. I can’t… it’s not something I can ever forget. And the thought of bringing another kid into the world, so soon after losing you? I really, truly, didn’t think I could do it. Loving you wasn’t enough to save you. How could I risk it again?” 

A breeze ripples out over the water. Peter tilts his face up to the sun. “But I did, of course. I went on. There were still people here that I loved. I couldn’t let myself just - fade. Even if I wanted to. Even if it hurt so much sometimes I thought maybe it would’ve been better if I’d been snapped too. I don’t think, for one single moment of Pep’s pregnancy, that I stopped being terrified. And then Morgan was born, and that’s all it took. I loved her so much, and it felt _so_ familiar. That’s what it took for me to see, really see, that I wasn’t just… repeating a cycle. I loved you, and I lost you. I loved Morgan too, and it didn’t - take away my love for you. I think I was scared of that, too. Forgetting you. But love is more like - well, to go with the dumbest analogy ever, it’s like science. There’s always going to be more to discover. And it doesn’t take away from all that was there before.” 

Peter’s crying now, proper tears rolling down his cheeks, leaving a salty taste in his mouth before dripping silently off his chin. He tucks his head into Tony’s shoulder, not trusting himself to speak just yet. 

“So, yeah. I went on. I created a life here,” Tony waves vaguely around them. “And I fell in love with it. There was nothing I would have risked it for. But then… then getting you back became a possibility. A real possibility, not just a dream that I held on to too tightly for too long. And it turns out there was one thing I would risk it for. You deserved to be so much more than a ghost I carried with me.” 

“You saved the world for me?” Peter croaks out. 

“I saved the _universe_ , kid. Let’s not downplay my brilliance.” 

Tony falls silent then, giving Peter a moment to gather his thoughts. “Hey, Tony?” 

“Yeah, kid?” 

“It’s like science for me, too.” 

Tony groans. “That really wasn’t my best, Pete, let’s not keep it going.” 

“No, I’m serious,” Peter insists. “Me and Ben… we used to go to the aquarium on Father’s Day. We spent the evenings with May. Father’s Day and his birthday were the two days a year we allowed him to pick the movie we watched, he always went with some kind of really long history documentary. I still watch them sometimes, now. I actually kind of like them. Anyway, evenings were the three of us, but during the day, that time was just for us. Ben and me. I think even then I knew how special those days were. We’d spend hours together, sitting and watching, observing. I loved the aquarium, I loved learning everything I could about everything I saw. I think mostly, though, I just loved spending time with Ben. Since he died, I just - Father’s Day hasn’t exactly been one of my favourite days.” 

“I’m sorry, Pete,” Tony says immediately. “I didn’t mean to… to drag this all up -” 

“No,” Peter says. “You don’t get it. Because Ben wasn’t the first person I spent Father’s Day with. I don’t have memories, exactly, more like… feelings, I guess. But I used to spend them with my dad.” And it does hurt, still, to think of everything he’s lost. It probably always will, in some way or another. Maybe it’s supposed to. “My point is, Ben wasn’t a replacement for my dad. My love for him, it didn’t - it didn’t take over the love for my dad. It just grew around it.” 

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Yeah. I get that.” 

“And you were right,” Peter continues. “You’re not a replacement for Ben. And you don’t have to be. You can just… grow around the loss, if I let you.” He takes a steadying breath. “I think I’m ready to let you.” 

Tony nods, eyes wet, before pulling Peter into a hug. Peter hugs him back, without the hesitation he’s become so accustomed to. Maybe all his problems aren’t solved. He’s still overworked, overtired, overstressed. He still misses May like he hasn’t seen her in years, hasn’t called her in what feels like longer. He still knows how it feels to try to bullshit everyone who matters to him; some fucked up kind of test where he doesn’t want anyone to notice he’s struggling, but still feels hurt when they don’t. 

But this feels important. It feels like a step towards the person he wants to be; someone who lets people in, who lets himself be heard. Someone who knows to make room for the things that matter. 

So he hugs Tony tight and, for a moment, allows his life to stand still. 

Then there’s a shout from the direction of the house, and they both pull away, huffing embarrassed laughs as they dry their eyes. It’s Morgan calling from the front porch, waving at them from where she sits on the middle step tucked between Pepper’s knees. Pepper waves at them too, a smile on her lips and a question in the tilt of her head. 

“Okay, kid,” Tony says, wincing as his back cracks when he stands. “That’s enough emotion for one day. Let’s go have some breakfast.” 

Peter follows suit, standing and stretching his arms above him. It’s gonna be a good day. He can feel it. 

“And because I’m so nice, even though they’re my _favourite_ , I’ll give you an extra large helping of eggs. Gotta keep up with your metabolism and all.” 

_Yeah_ , Peter thinks, even as he groans aloud at the idea of actually having to eat the breakfast he helped prepare, _a good day_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it folks! Hope the ending is satisfying enough for you guys. This was originally supposed to just be like a 2k oneshot, but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out overall. It's nice to actually finish something for once, even if it is just a short little piece! Anyway thanks to everyone who reads this, it's not proofread or edited at all and uhhhh probably won't be lmao but I hope it's enjoyable enough anyway. Until next time! xx

**Author's Note:**

> i don't even know what this is other than currently heavily unedited, sorry to whoever might have read this. Everything will be edited soon when i learn how to read 
> 
> oh also second part up tomorrow probably peace out homies


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